Expiry Date
by Green2
Summary: FINAL CHAPTER UP!*SLASH* R/D: Ron's in a race against time...
1. One

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Expiry Date

By Green

Rating: R 

Pairing: Ron Weasley/ Draco Malfoy (mais naturellement)

Warnings: SLASH! (although I know for some that's more bait than a warning), some language, some violence…the usual, basically. Also use of italics - it gets to some people

Series/Sequel: Part one

Disclaimer: They are mine, but until I escape from the alien holding facility and return to the mother ship to spread the truth about the secret government air-freshener no one will know the truth…um, actually, yeah, not mine at all.

Notes: I really wanted to write more R/D and finally this plotline clobbered me from somewhere and refused to let go. I was so touched by the response to 'Funny How…', and I only hope people like this as much. It's also gonna be a series.

As always, please read and review * g *

~~***~~

''How long until he figures it out, do you think?''

Draco's question intrudes into my silence with a chilling echo. I wonder how I ever thought I could escape from him.

Doesn't stop me trying.

''Malfoy! What the hell are you doing here?''

''I could ask you the same question''

He detaches himself from the shadows of the pillar and moves towards me. For someone with a significant disadvantage in height he manages to carry himself with great power and dignity. I call it scary. It's not what I mean, but I don't have a better word. 

He raises one finger to his cheek in a mock-questioning attitude:

''Now, what, I wonder, could Ronald Weasley be doing in the cellars of Hogwarts at this late hour? How many house points are deducted for being out of bed at this time again?''

''I asked you first''

Stupid reply, but anything to fend him off. He smiles without his eyes and hangs sideways from the arm wrapped around the pillar. As he swings around his torso stretches out under the strain, flexing towards me. 

''Well, Weasley, I had the chance of getting you all to myself for once, didn't I? You're always with * him * you know, 'Oooh, Hawwy, what a twuly fantastic catch! That ball was moving so fast! How did you ever manage to wetrieve it?''

''I do * not * talk like that!'' I thought that kind of mimicry was beneath him, intellectually speaking, at any rate.

''You think I can't hear? I'm in a bloody House Quidditch Team as well, you know''

''Which has nothing to do with your Father supplying the broomsticks, I'm sure. Now, if you've nothing life-shattering to add to this discussion, I have to go.''

''Oh no, Weasley'' His voice drips with sarcasm, but he swings around once more, blocking my way and looking grimly into my eyes. ''You're not leaving until you answer my question''

''What question?''

''Oh, just the one you've been trying to pretend you didn't hear all week: How long do you think you can go before he figures it out?'' Smiling like a crocodile must, eyes cold, and I almost expect a third eyelid to flick out over them he's so reptilian.

But in this cold room the heat of his blood is all too obvious.

''I don't know what you mean.''

''How. Long. Until. The great Harry Potter, the boy who the entire female population of the school wants to get hot and flustered, figures out that his best friend has designs on his ass?''

His tone is patronising, but his eyes still look too bright, too focussed. As he talks his lips press gently together, with a tiny moist sound as he enunciates all his consonants. 

Perhaps it is the way my breath streams out white in the cold air that makes it seem so loud…

''How much longer can it last, Weasley? How much happiness do you think you really deserve?''

I can see he won't leave until I answer. After a week of near escapes he's run me to earth.

~~***~~

It began on Monday. I hate Mondays.

''Why are you stalking me, Malfoy?''

Asking the question, was I suppose, tantamount to opening the door to a ravenous wolf, but I was sick of him turning up everywhere I went, as he had been the past three days.

He leant casually against the wall of the corridor, then took an apple out of his pocket and rubbed it against his thigh before taking a sharp bite. Like I was his servant or something, someone to wait on his inclination to notice me. A tiny dribble of juice wound a sticky-sweet trail to his chin before he finally answered.

''I want to see the shit hit the fan, Weasley''

''I don't know what you're hinting about, Malfoy, and I doubt you do either'' I picked up my bag from the floor, put the books from my locker into it and turned to leave. 

He leisurely stood up straight and flicked his apple core onto the floor. And then it came:

''How long until he figures it out, do you think?''

''What?'' My exasperated question came too late to disguise that I knew exactly what he was talking about, and that it shook me, badly. I think I paled and flushed simultaneously. That isn't possible, right? But then, neither was him knowing what he so obviously did.

''Come on, Weasley - don't have the family brain-cell today do we? When the-boy-who-couldn't-get-decent-reconstructive-surgery finally wanders through the mire of his brain and reaches the truth it's going to be the most amusing scene in * years *. If you think I'd miss that…''

Thoughts chased through my mind in an angry blast - 'He wants to * watch * me and Harry fight? Not that we will. But if we did, I mean, he thinks we definitely will, and if that was so, of course, nothing will happen, but the bastard wants to watch!'

His eyes still gazed at me appraisingly, mockingly, coldly. I felt a chill run over my spine and I turned my back on him only to find that it was worse, because I could feel the eyes as they watched me down the corridor.

And I could feel my skin dancing under the attention…

~~***~~

From then on in he was * everywhere *

I could never settle unless I had found out where he was watching from - in the Library, in the Hall, on the Quidditch pitch. So, of course, even on the few occasions he wasn't there I thoroughly spoiled any enjoyment I might have got from the activity.

At first I thought I was safe in the Gryffindor tower - then I remembered the Polyjuice potion. 

He was in my * dreams * for godssakes. Always laughing, always waiting. The dreams I'd started to have last year, strange twisty-warm visions of other boys that I hated and prayed for. Things you don't think about in the daylight. Now he intruded, cold, and ruined every one. Whatever scenario my mind had imagined, it would suddenly stop as I realised that he'd been watching the whole time. _ Laughing _

Harry was so kind. Hermione caring. I wished that there were anything resembling the truth that I could reply to their enquiries. 

But whenever I talked to Harry I could almost hear a clock ticking in the background. His friendship, and more or less equally so Hermione's, means more to me than anything. I didn't want to lose it.

But the worst thing was that I soon realised Malfoy was right.

Harry would never be able to deal with me being…well, what I was. With my feelings. I used to think it would be tough enough if either of us fell for Hermione, but this! This was ten times worse.

He was my friend. He was going to notice.

The clock was ticking.

~~***~~

I thought that I could escape here, down into the depths of the cellars. I thought I might get a moment's peace denied to me in sleep.

Once again I seem to have underestimated how committed he is to his little 'projects'.

And now, with his arm blocking my path out, I'm almost pleased. I'm sick of running away from him. I'm sick of being scared. 

''You haven't answered my question yet, Weasley.''

I could probably take him if it came to a fight, but he's tenacious, and he's definitely a biter…

'You're a sick bastard.''

''Thank-you.''

His arm still trapping me, and that too-focussed look still present. He's really…anxious about this. What * is * this? His eyes, close-up, look red, he hasn't been sleeping.

''I'm Harry's friend, Malfoy, nothing more... I don't get why you care so much about this.''

''No, you probably don't.'' His tone has changed completely - he laughs and stands back, leaving the way clear. ''You really haven't got a clue have you? No social skills to be passed on in your family, I presume.''

Just when I half-believe I can see some motivation in what he does he goes back to cheap shots and cruel digs.

''I don't have time for this, Malfoy.'' I stride past him and towards the stairs, so quickly that I almost miss his reply:

''No, you don't have much time at all.''

~~***~~


	2. Two

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Expiry Date

Chapter Two:

Pairing etc: See previous

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Notes: Thanks to all reviewers so far - you're great guys! Here be part the second, yet more plot setting up. I know there isn't so much Draco in this at the mo, but be patient and wait for chapter three! I would like to offer a warning, I know it's kind of a spoiler, but I think on balance you should know - HARRY IS ACTING OOC! THIS IS INTENTIONAL AND ALL WILL BE REVEALED LATER! Sorry, but I was afraid people might just think it was bad writing and stop reading…which would be sad * g*

~~***~~

'He'll see you in a minute, Mr Weasley'

There is a finite amount of time for which we can delude ourselves. I should know that by now.

Guess I really don't have clue.

His concern - like that would be anything other than selfish.

And me! Like * I * was ever the centre of attention.

__

You were today

I've been around Harry so much I sometimes forget to check what people are really looking at. Today, after days of analysis and confusion and trying to get through the nights with slightly less mess than the days, I finally figured it out.

Draco wants Harry. 

I think that phrase to make it calm, to place it in brute fact. But each time I think it the word 'want' just spirals into my stomach. 

What the hell do either of * them * know about want? About need? The two richest students in the year…

And really, y'know, I'm relieved, because it was getting all too confusing. Not really my problem, now. If Draco's plan goes as he intends (and like Harry would really turn him down), then all my problems disappear. 

__

Hello? You're sitting here waiting? I think your problems just began…

I just can't figure out at what point my dreams mutated into the two of them…together. Fighting and then…and then…and now * I * walk in and turn everything to coldness.

And I wake up warm. Wet. Alone.

In the small hours of the night I half wish Harry would wake up and see, and ask. Then I could tell him.

But what? I don't think I know what truth or whose truth to tell anymore. And he's been…distant, lately. 

I like Harry. I hate Malfoy. That's how it's always been.

And then I woke up one day on the other side of adolescence and friends and enemies aren't all there is any more.

And he is * still * stalking me.

__

Was. He's not going anywhere just now…You have to think about it, you're being questioned in a minute…you have to remember, remember the Quidditch match

Come emotional turmoil, snow or invasion by the minions of the dark there is one force more powerful than any other: House Quidditch finals.

I would _ never _ tell the guys this, but Quidditch is more like, well, aerial ballet, than anything else. The skill and grace required of a good player is of the highest order - and when you've watched Harry for as many years as I have you can appreciate real talent.

I was wrong to say what I did to Draco Malfoy - he can play Quidditch. He's not as good as Harry, in that he doesn't have the same natural talent for riding a broomstick, but he's certainly earned his place on the team, and he works hard enough.

He was covered in sweat by the end.

His hair was almost brown in the moisture and he face was reddened. Harry wasn't much better and they stared, fixedly, holding each other's gaze in the minutes before the whistle blew and they set off after each goal. I couldn't see a damn thing - Hermione had the Omnioculars - I mean, it's ridiculous, it's played so far away that you can't even read the expression on the player's faces for godssakes. 

Couldn't tell if they're in angry silence, or if they're talking…

I felt hot and cold all over, and red, and as sweaty as them and deep inside my stomach something was tripping out and pulling my insides into a knot.

__

That was when it first came to you 'Draco wants Harry'

They were so far away from me up there, so removed from anything in my world. Nice metaphor really.

__

And then…

They fell. Straight down and falling, fell right through all that cold air and down.

Sickening crunch as the Firebolt snapped in two.

Scream from either, or both, or someone in crowd, possibly me.

From, what? Fuck-hundred feet up and down to the ground.

Holding my best friend's hand and ignoring the blood and Draco * writhing * in pain and grabbing at my sweater blindly, the two of them twisted onto the parched grass.

__

But why are you * here *, waiting to see Dumbledore? Why aren't you in the Infirmary with Hermione?

I felt a hand on my shoulder, forcing me to look round, Snape arrived, with Colin Creevey and Parvati Patel. I didn't even think how odd it was before Colin pointed at me and I tore my attention away just long enough to hear what he said:

'He did it! Ron Weasley! I saw it! He made them fall!' 

And Harry looked up through green eyes struck-through with pain, took a shaky breath and choked

'Yes…I saw him…it was Ron!'

Draco pulled incessantly at my sleeve but I ignored him, gazing in bewilderment at the last vestiges of order in my world as Hermione helped Harry to the stretcher and a crowd of outraged teachers dragged me off here…

There is a finite time for which we can pretend our lives are stable.

And two minutes before three people tell Dumbledore I tried to kill my best friend….

~~***~~

t.b.c……soon, very soon!


	3. Three

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Expiry Date

Part Three

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Warnings etc: See first chapter

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Notes: Yup, the end of the last bit was confusing, I know that, but hopefully some clarification here, for Ron at the very least! I hope no one who sees the films hasn't also read the book, because from the films you'd think that Ron existed solely to make amusingly scared faces at the camera and faint occasionally when Harry needed a chance to be heroic. Ooooh, I swear, one day I am just going to write something absolutely Harry-bashing just for the sake of it….until then, however, read and enjoy (I hope) and please let me know what you think…

~~***~~

'I could ask you the same question.'

I jump in surprise as Draco Malfoy strides into the bare room in the Infirmary where I'm being 'kept'…

…they'd kill me if I went to Gryffindor tower…

…and, despite everything, I almost laugh at the way he anticipates my question. He seems remarkably cheerful, and, though his arm is still bandaged, after his night in the Infirmary he seems much better. It's remarkable that they weren't injured more badly -I'd worried. A lot. Because if enough people think you're responsible for something it begins to feel as though you are.

They didn't say it. Dumbledore asked me if I did it. I said no. He and the other staff decided to investigate the site further, test the remainder of the spell to see where it originated from, before condemning me. There eyes always darting away before I could meet them, and their frowns all the worse for Snape's sickly smile of triumph.

I've never seen Dumbledore at a loss for words before. 'I'm not Volde-fucking-mort' That's what I wanted to say, although I didn't.

I know they don't want to think it's true, but Harry said it was. Harry Potter hath spoken…

'Is Harry alright?' I ask, trying so hard to make the words light that they come out weird and artificial.

Draco frowns, and looks inexplicably annoyed. When he scowls his slightly-too-long fringe falls over his eyes. It must be highly irritating, but he doesn't brush it away. I can almost feel the tickle on my own skin, and my fingers itch to brush it off his face.

When he speaks I want to scratch him too, hard.

'Oh, the precious Potter left a few hours ago. He had some bad grazes from the brooms, but not much else, I've no doubt you'll be * overjoyed * to hear. Quite capable of telling me at least twice how shocked he is that you did it…' 

The _lightness _ of Draco's tone is disgusting.

__

But then, Harry's well away from you now. Draco has his shot. 

'And you? How long are they keeping up this ridiculous charade - keeping you in isolation, hah! They can't honestly believe you did it?'

'You…you don't think I did?' 

My voice is horribly soft and hesitant, and conveys his answer all too well. I'm shocked, because he is the first person in all this to doubt my guilt, the first to…well, to take my word over Harry's.

He looks at me strangely for a moment, then sneers.

'Haven't done your homework have you, Weasley? The spell that was used was called _Gravitas Regenerens_, they've found out that much from testing the brooms - it's the only thing that can disenchant a broomstick from flying like that.'

This conveys nothing to me, so I wait for more, and, as I think he was planning, he sighs theatrically at my lack of knowledge. 'That spell, Weasley, requires a long term setting, in this case 84 hours before the application. We fell at 1:05pm Thursday, which, if you work it out, puts the initial casting of the spell at 1:05am Monday morning, which we consider Sunday night, which was when…'

'…when you talked to me in the cellar, where I was quite obviously * not * casting complex spells. I see.' 

I…joy. Bursting screaming joy. Proof! Proof that I didn't try and hurt Harry. Now the teachers can see, and he can see, and when Malfoy tells them…

Then it occurs to me:

'Malfoy, why the hell didn't you tell anyone this earlier? I've been sitting here whilst everyone despises me and you wait until I'm a captive audience before you tell me? Have you any * idea * what this is like? What it is to have everyone believe you did something like this?'

'Oh but I do,' he replies, icily, and with a fixed and businesslike stare he walks closer, places one hand on my shoulder, with that smile that can't reach his eyes. 

'I know, Weasley, that whatever they may say no one thinks you had the intelligence to do this alone. They all think * I * was in on it too, the prejudiced bastards. As if any of this was worth a broken arm! If I give you an alibi they'll just take it as proof we were working together. After all, you're my alibi as well for that night. No one else saw us.'

'Why would I ever want to work with * you *?' 

I put all the venom that's built in me over the past twelve hours into that jab, and maybe it's a little unfair, to take my anger out on him, but somehow I feel as though it _ is _ his fault. If the proof of my innocence didn't cover him as well, I'd certainly think him capable of it.

He recoils, slightly, something flashing across his eyes for all of one millisecond that could just be the electric light.

__

Or hurt.

Then after a blink they look so cold again, and hard and shallow of feeling.

He takes his hand off my shoulder. 

'Well then you believe my innocence and I believe yours, but you seem to have forgotten the most important question, Weasley.' He is back in that superior tone again, patronising me. Perhaps that's why I answer so sharply, why I feel as though some tension has mounted in the room that I wasn't aware of earlier.

'Yeah? What is this revelation?'

'Well, if you didn't do it, why do Creevey, Patel and Potter think so? And if you didn't do it, and I didn't do it, who did?'

He has reached the door, and pauses theatrically. 'Oh, and I was sent here to tell you that Dumbledore wants to see you in five, oh no, wait.' He looks at his watch. 'Fifteen minutes ago, now, and to tell you to hurry.' He is being excruciatingly annoying, and he knows it, so I try to resist the urge to hit him and give him what he wants.

But what does he want? Why come here to tell me this? What * is * his agenda?

~~***~~

I admit I thought at first that he might be lying - playing tricks, giving me hope where there was none or covering for himself, after all, if there weren't the extenuating circumstances I'd suspect him before anyone.

But no, Dumbledore told me more or less exactly what Draco had said - _Gravitas Regenerens_, 84 hours and did I have an alibi? 

'No, sir.' It was true, because as Draco pointed out the cover wasn't really worth anything.

It was funny though, all through the interview I felt this sense of…awkwardness, as if Dumbledore was uncomfortable about something. He wasn't as earnest as one would expect, and, well, I don't know really, I just wondered what he was thinking sometimes.

Oh yeah, and Harry won't see me and half the pupils are out for my blood so it's suggested that I stay in isolation a little longer. Because that won't convince them I'm guilty or anything…I've talked to Hermione, a little, and I honestly think she was telling the truth when she said she didn't believe I'd done it….and yet…she too had this strange distance about her. Maybe it's just weird to be on the outside looking in.

I don't understand why Harry's acting this way. But, after all, I nearly messed up our friendship anyway, even without this fiasco…

And it's just now that I can see what I feel, and how wrong my interpretation was before…

I think my world had already quietly dissolved at some point and I didn't notice and it's taken this to show it to me.

And the one constant? The only stable thing in the world is blond and cruel and refuses to call me by my first name.

~~***~~

I went there because I was thinking of him - no point in lying to myself.

Of course, I had to then, just to persuade myself to walk down those cold stairs, barefoot and in pyjamas.

The cellar was as dark as it had been the other night, when some cruel fate gave me an impossible alibi, and Draco asked the first question. And now he has more questions, challenges and means to shake up every piece of complacency I have and I don't know why.

And yet the coldness only crept into my muscles when I realised no one was waiting in the dim room. 

So I jumped all the higher and screamed all the more embarrassingly when I felt a soft touch on my arm.

'Honestly, Weasley, you don't think Harry's the only one with one of these?' And a blond mass emerges from thin air, followed by the rest of him, until the cloak only covers one arm.

'Malfoy: One, you nearly killed me, and two, let's skip the interrogation this once, hey? I have unresolved issues, yeah, I got it.'

I can't remember the last time I saw him laugh spontaneously like that.

'OK, if I can't question, what about some answers?'

'Give me one good reason to listen to you.' And it's funny, because being pissed at Draco really isn't fun any more. I owe him an alibi, and by extension probably my sanity, and he, well…he seems to have noticed that I've changed, and no one else has.

So I pre-empt his answer: 'Where are we going?' I ask, as nonchalantly as possible, trying not to show how pleased I am by his look of surprise. He collects himself, however, and answers briskly.

'Nowhere, technically. I have a portkey that can take us where we need to go from here.' He produces a hairbrush, stray golden strands still caught in it, from underneath the cloak.

'That place being?'

'A place where I guy I know works. He has…connections. If anything outside Hogwarts was responsible for this he'll know.'

'* Why * are you doing this, Malfoy?' 

__

There, you asked, not so hard was it?

'Why the hell do you think, Weasel-brain? Some soon-to-regretting-it areshole made me fall several hundred feet off my broom for godssake!'

Nuh uh, it surprises me that I know him well enough now to know that he's dodging the question.

'And, I don't know, say, _ Harry Potter _, has nothing to do with it?'

'Excuse me?'

'You don't want to get in his good books? Or possibly in elsewhere?'

'Are you asking me if I want to shag Harry Potter?' His tone is disbelieving, but also too quiet for the outrage he is trying to suggest.

'I might be'

The air has become very thick, too warm, and moist somehow. I feel some current tugging at the base of my stomach, and just to the left of his ear play all the dream images, which I stare at to avoid meeting his eyes. 

I can smell the sensitive-skin conditioner he uses, electrically.

I tell myself this isn't important.

He opens his mouth to answer with a soft sound of parting lips.

'I could ask you the same question.'

And he can, because confused as I am; I do know this answer.

'No.'

'No what, Weasley?'

'I don't fancy Harry.'

'Well, neither do I.'

Suddenly I don't want this conversation to go any further, and, breathing carefully and too deeply the air of this strange new world, I touch the portkey that he holds out and am sucked into a place of darkness and noise…

~~***~~


	4. Four

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Expiry Date

By Green

Chapter Four

Warnings, Disclaimer, etc: Please see chapter one

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Notes: Yes, I know, it's been long enough coming. Unfortunately my usual writing activities were interrupted by exams, but now that they're over (yay!) I can go back to this. This instalment will answer a few questions, but Ron and Draco's troubles are far from over (yay again!). The gaps between chapters will be much shorter now, and again I'm sorry for the long wait. * g *

~~***~~

The weirdest thing about epiphanies is how intensely private you always want to make them - as though no one in the world before ever discovered the blatant emotional fact you have just uncovered in your psyche.

I couldn't exactly be intolerant of the people in the club we'd just stumbled into the back of, but they made me feel mean. 

__

Yeah, the men kissing each other made you mean, that was the name for that feeling.

Draco's 'contact' was in a bar that proclaimed itself in a neon light over the bar to be 'Gay Paree'?

I didn't even ask, just raised my eyebrows at Draco so high I thought they'd fall off. It probably would have been pointless to try and speak anyway, since the music was so loud I could feel the base in my intestines. 

Draco shrugged his shoulders in reply, with an infuriating smile like 'What's your problem?' and walked purposefully over to the bar, oblivious of the dancers, obviously going to order something. His hair was alternating pink and blue in the strobing lights, and I realised that at some point he'd put a glamour on both of us so that we appeared to be in ordinary clothes, not pyjamas. However, what I could feel was still one layer of old cotton with those little balls you get after too many washes - just that between me and the world.

In fact I felt so vulnerable that I walked straight after Draco. He turned around and through some yelling and mime managed to ask me what I wanted to drink. What's funny is that this seemed a little weird to me, under the circumstances - I mean, we were in a gay bar and he was buying me a drink…

__

Weird. Yeah, much with the spot-on vocabulary Ron

And if * that * freaked me out, I really have no excuse whatever for what happened next.

He'd ordered, and I was about to try and ask when we were actually going to seek out this 'contact', who I was beginning to doubt the existence of. I was stopped, however, by the sensation of a hand being placed squarely on my…well, my behind.

'Why don't you lose the girl?' (An indication of Draco with the free hand) 'And come on with me to Babylon? You don't want to be stuck in this dump all night.'

I felt terrified. The guy was quite a bit older, good looking, in a muscle-bound kind of way, but he didn't look kind, in fact I think he was on something and he reeked of sweat and aftershave.

And I hadn't brought my wand. And I seemed to have forgotten how to speak.

He gripped my arm, and I was about to yelp, or pull it back or something equally stupid, when I felt another light touch on my torso.

Draco had slid his arm around my waist, and was now leaning against my shoulder with a smooth aggression in his gaze that I'd only seen previously when he was warning people off touching his freshly varnished Nimbus Two Thousand and One. 

One eyebrow raised in a perfect arch. The expression that conveys so clearly 'One step closer and I will personally sign the cheque to toast you.'

I catch on quickly - I leant in towards him. I was going to peck him on the cheek or something, I don't know, but somewhere along the way the warmth of his arm, or the music or * something * took over my brain and instead I ran my tongue gently over the lobe of his ear.

His expression remained perfectly composed, but the arm around me tightened with a sharp jerk.

Muttering various swearwords and giving us the finger the other guy moved off.

I couldn't figure out how to move. Something to do with the ability to process thoughts seemed to have short-circuited somewhere. 

But even as I turned to actually look at Draco, try and figure out what he was thinking he pulled away and turned around to get the drinks.

He was biting his lip, hard. 

Finally, after we'd drained the bottles without registering any of the contents he raised his arm and pointed out a door on the far side of the room. A large man in a leather jacket was just exiting. 

'In there. He can see us now.'

'Who is he?'

'Does it matter? OK, stupid question - I keep forgetting you're one of the little good Gryffindors.' His tone was annoyingly patronising, but it also made me feel slightly embarrassed.

'OK, let's be bad then.' He raised the other eyebrow as I spoke, and unconsciously sucked in his bitten lip. I shivered, 'I think the drink is getting to me, Draco.'

'I bought you non-alcoholic you twat'

'Oh.'

And with some unease, for many reasons, we proceeded across the filthy floor to the door to answers.

~~***~~

Going to see Draco's contact was stupid on about ten levels, but I didn't get that until we talked to him.

/Marcus Flint/

Sitting on a cheap plastic scoop seat with powders and scales and pills on a table and some filthy Muggle notes held in plastic bands. His old Quidditch-honed physique was sliding into a beer gut.

I don't think he recognised me, but he flinched when he saw Draco. You learn a new thing every day. Seems Marcus owes Draco, or Draco has something over Marcus. I really don't want to think what. Anyway they didn't look pleased to see each other at all, but Marcus put up little resistance to telling us what we wanted. 

Why did Harry and he fall? Draco asked it straight away and to the point. And didn't even recoil from the answer that he must have half-suspected: agents of Voldemort, aided by his Father. 

Turns out they used a complicated spell that meant Lucius enchanted Draco via a letter from home, using him as the Messenger to attack Harry at precisely when Draco had written that there was to be a Quidditch match. Or something like that, I think the thing that sank most deeply into both of us was that killing the messenger was apparently not a huge issue to Lucius.

'It had to happen someday.' That was Draco's only comment, and he shook my hand off when I tentatively tried to place it on his shoulder.

'So' Draco continued 'Why did it look like…someone else…had done it?'

'Well, they're not stupid, are they?' replied Marcus with ever decreasing grace. 'They knew that there would have to be a culprit, they just added in a glamour that would place the illusion of someone casting the spell on one of your friends, everyone would assume that they were in league with you.'

'But, it wasn't one of my friends who appeared to do it.'

Okay, so I couldn't help feeling slightly annoyed at that. Which is senseless really because whatever Draco and I have ever been 'friends' does not really describe it at all. But I'd seen so much of him recently, and he'd been the only one nice to me, and so…yeah. 

Marcus' answer was illuminating: 'Friend, whatever, just whoever you spent the most time in close proximity to in the days before the match, Lucius figured it'd be Grabbe and Boil or whoever those root vegetables you hang out with are'. Marcus spoke with profound lack of interest, but I gasped, and Draco shifted slightly, uncomfortably. He frowned at me, warning me not to talk now. 

And me, I was suddenly learning a lot of information that I really had no wish to know.

__

Convincing, Ron, real convincing there.

And we would have walked away right then, still oblivious to the worst of it, had not Marcus made a key misjudgement and assumed that we already knew.

'Of course, you can imagine they're pissed to find out that it wasn't Potter at all'

To give Draco his credit he didn't twitch a muscle, and he kicked me in the shin to stop me exclaiming. He simply said 'Yeah, that must have been annoying, but how do * you * know about it?'

Marcus flushed slightly. 'Well, I wondered why Wood wasn't in the Cannons this season didn't I? Didn't expect to find him protecting the bloody boy-who-wouldn't-die by impersonating him did I? Risking his life for bloody Potter! Not that I care what Wood does with his life…'

'Spare me the soap opera Marcus. Who have you told?'

'Oh I expect everyone knows. Well how long did Dumbledore think he could fool six hundred kids anyway?'

I was rooted to the spot. I couldn't move because if I did the huge block of ice that had just formed in my chest would have ruptured my torso. And you know what? I could have given a fuck. 

No wonder 'Harry' was acting so weird around me recently.

But Hermione? Hermione had talked to him, talked to Dumbledore. I remembered her look as she assured me she didn't believe I'd hurt Harry.

So Hermione knew.

Hole, ground. Dynamite, mouth. Corner, cry. Knife, guts. Not enough time to say how I felt just then. But then, oh yeah, I felt it for an eternity.

Draco threw a cursory nod to Flint and just grabbed me by the arm and dragged me out of that tiny, stinking little room. When we got outside he turned on me and yelled over the music:

'What the hell was that Ron? You looked like you were about to go nuts! You don't * ever * react to info - got it? If he figures out that that was something I didn't know I lose my edge, permanently! And all because you can't keep yourself under control!'

'Yeah?' I replied, shouting with equal rage, 'Did you even hear that, Draco? 'Harry' isn't real; the two closest people to me have been lying to me through their teeth for maybe weeks…but hey! * You * don't care about that, do you? How about the fact that my life's in this mess because of your Dad and, frankly, he doesn't care if he messes you up even worse!'

We were neither of us actually angry with the other. In fact, as far as each of us knew the other was the only one definitely innocent of hurting us. But we always argue, that's what we * do *. So we stood glaring at each other for all of about ten seconds, and if his eyes hadn't been all bright and damp I'm sure I would have seen myself reflected in them the mirror image of him. 

Then Draco swore and went back to the bar, and I followed right after because there was no way that I would let him lose me and then leave me here with no way back to Hogwarts. He ordered another drink. 

'Well, get me one then.' I said it in an annoyed tone, but the thing was so trivial I knew he'd understand that I just wanted to stop arguing about the proper stuff, the big stuff, the stuff that actually meant something. He tried to order me another juice, but I stopped him and got vodka instead. I didn't want to be sober any more.

I don't know how long later it was that we wound up on the dance floor, leaning on each other and wobbling slightly. I couldn't seem to remember how we got there. Draco had a half-empty beer bottle in his hand, and I could tell this because he had that arm over my shoulder and the glass was banging into my shoulder blade. 

'Draco, can we go now?' I don't know why I didn't ask before, but since I'd just come to myself again now seemed as good a time to ask as any and none too soon. I still felt terrible, and dizzy now as well.

He pulled the brush from his pocket and held it out, his hand shaking with drink or emotion, he appeared to be having trouble focussing on it. I reached out to touch it and once more the scenery dissolved. 

I waited to arrive back in the cold depths of Hogwarts, to feel the rough stone beneath my feet. However, the first sensation I had was that of my toes sinking into deep, soft shagpile.

'Oh' said Draco. 'We're home.'

~~***~~

The Malfoy Manor was not exactly how I'd pictured for the first family of evil. There was no pervading green décor, the doors were not tall and imposing and there were no gargoyles perched around the ceiling. It was just a too-perfect, too-clean house, admittedly with about a hundred rooms, but all of them horribly normal and frighteningly 'designer'. No evidence that living people actually inhabited it at all.

Which, luckily for both of us they didn't at that point. Lucius and Narcissa were on 'holiday', probably not wishing to be available for questioning over the whole broom-sudden death thing. Only the house-elves, timid and worn-looking, peeped with fear from behind the furniture and cowered into the shadows away from Draco.

Who, did I mention, was going totally insane? 

He had looked around him for a minute after realising where he'd accidentally taken us, and then he'd cried out in anger that sounded too long suppressed. He picked up the nearest priceless vase and hurled it at the portrait of some eighteenth century ancestor on the wall. Even as the smash still echoed in the long hallway he raced down it, throwing over the little tables, knocking ornaments off their stands, grabbing a shard from a broken glass model of the Slytherin emblem and using it to rip right down the centre of Rembrandts, Titians and a Picasso. 

I could barely move in horror, then suddenly adrenaline raced through me, and I grabbed the shard from his hand. I was horrified to see a deep cut from the glass running down his palm, but he barely seemed to notice. He shook me off and ran into another room, throwing, smashing, kicking, tearing, ripping and clawing his way through furniture worth more than my entire family has in Gringotts. It was terrifying to see, but it also made me want to cry, because he was. He was sobbing with frustration, because he knew that this was the only way he could get at his parents, and that even this wouldn't hurt them like they'd hurt him.

He'd always known precisely what his Father was prepared to do, I think, but he didn't * know * until tonight. The ugly fact stared him in this face and he couldn't deal with it, no one should have to deal with something like that.

But what could I do? He wouldn't stop, and on some level I didn't want him to. I couldn't help feeling that this was probably the healthiest thing he'd done in his life.

And I hurt inside. I wanted to see that I wasn't the only one.

Finally, three rooms later, in the Master-suite with a giant four-poster, where the Malfoys had obviously overruled their decorator on matters of taste and did actually have black and green silk bed-sheets, Draco collapsed. He cradled his hurt hand into his chest and sank slowly on his knees to the floor. He had stopped crying, but he was still shaking. Dark spots of blood fell slowly onto the carpet in perfect circles.

I inched closer and gently patted him on the arm; he shook me off again and leapt up, then turned his face, red and puffy from crying, towards mine. 

'You think I'm crazy? You feel scared by this?' He waved an arm encompassing the entire room. 'You tell me you don't honestly want to do * that *' - he stabbed his hand forward as if it still held the shard - 'to Harry Potter's face right now.'

'You shut up about Harry!' I yelled, suddenly as angry as I had been back in the bar, all my empathy gone, 'Stop talking like you have the first idea about him or me, because you don't! You started all this! You slinking around after me, teasing me and taunting me and laughing all the time! Your father should value you more, you're just like him!'

I can hardly bear to think I actually said that. I can hardly believe he didn't put a Crucio curse on me there and then, I'm sure he could have done just then.

Instead he beat his fists against me, then I caught them and we almost wrestled for a moment, pushing and shoving like little kids, and the pressure was too much and we collapsed onto the deep soft poison-coloured bed.

He was above me, pinning my arms, panting; 'You think, Weasley, that my Father would like it if I did this?'

He kissed me.

He pressed right down, hard and too fast and clashed our teeth together and kissed me. Breath of beer and stale air and mucus and lips dry and he kissed me.

He kissed me.

He pulled back and stared me in the eyes. I was frozen in surprise, unable to move. But I wanted to. I could feel all the anger and hate and aggression, and all the alcohol, that was in me, all pooled together and hot and running through me like fire. I wanted to move and writhe and be as destructive as Draco had been earlier. I wanted to get Draco, I wanted Draco, I wanted to lose my mind. 

I flipped him over and kissed him, hard. He tangled his hands into my hair and wouldn't let me go, and I pulled at our clothes until I could feel that the sweat and dirt all over both of us was rubbing right into those shiny green sheets. Just moving and moving and watching the wet sweaty mark growing, and in the background I could hear Draco moaning every time I shifted, but I didn't notice and I didn't care. 

Then he turned us over again and started doing something to my chest. He tried to kiss me, but I pushed his face away, and on my back I could see as I looked up that there was this huge mirror over the bed, and in it were these two boys. One was lying flat out staring at me and the other with only his back visible as he leant over the first. I could see the redhead glaring at me with accusation and remorse, and then Draco finally made it all the way down south and I had to close my eyes because fireballs were exploding behind them.

It was everything I wanted and everything I hated and it was. Draco. Malfoy. Doing. Me. and that isn't even a nightmare or a fantasy because there was no way I could ever imagine the way this felt.

I figure that the best thing about dying is that then there is no longer a time limit on how long you can go before you wake up and smell the shit again. Unfortunately perhaps, both of us were only as far down the road to oblivion as three shots, two beers and a non-alcoholic grape juice will take you.

Even as I fell asleep I was vaguely conscious that, in less than four hours, the end would have to begin…

~~***~~


	5. Five

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Expiry Date: Chapter Five

By Green

Warnings, Disclaimer etc: Please see first chapter

****

Notes: Thank-you to all lovely reviewers so far, and sorry again for the long gap before the last instalment. I'm back in business now and provided ff.n plays no more tricks I should be updating regularly now! This, I have to say, has been my favourite chapter so far (…mmmmmm..angst), although frankly it's been a bugger to write (I've re-written the damn thing five times now) hope y'all read and enjoy, and even if you don't please leave a review and help me improve * g *

~~***~~

When I awake I instantly realise that I should not have done.

My head feels like a sore pile of worn metal. It isn't helped by the fact that the morning sun is streaming daggers into my eyes…No, wait, that can't be right - both the boys' dormitory in Gryffindor Tower and my bedroom at home are west-facing…

Green. I slowly become aware of green everywhere. Too much green, sickly green. I look down almost expecting it to have rubbed off onto my body, because I'm not wearing any clothes, which is because…

__

Oh no, please, please no….

With one hand shielding my eyes I twist round and find Draco still asleep, stretched out and soft and taking up about two-thirds of the space and all the covers, which should be so much less annoying given that it is the least of my problems right now. 

Nausea hits me like a tidal wave.

__

Draco. No, no, oh god…

He looks bizarrely calm, asleep - when those calculating, experienced eyes are closed he seems almost vulnerable. Both of his hands grip the sheets tightly, like he's prepared to fight even in sleep, or he's afraid of having them taken. 

Angry red marks on his back and neck. Where did they?

Oh.

__

Shit

His spine makes such a tempting trail up his back, knobbly and shadowed and…

The covers are all twisted around him like a swirl of smooth green cream…

I put my head in my hands and groan. This is * Draco * - what had had I thought? This is the person I had feared for so long, the person who had destroyed my ego over and over again, the person who I always prayed would never have anything to hold over me and now…this.

__

What the hell can I do?

Random thoughts spin through my head, nothing making any sense. It's like losing depth perception - all the prearranged ideas that I usually wake up with have just turned around, inside out and put themselves through a blender for good measure. 

I can't seem to remember anything about it after we…after he kissed me…apart from looking up at some boy in the ceiling…

__

Mirror.

…but the sheets I lie on have enough evidence to show that we hadn't simply passed out, no damage done. We were stupid. Monumentally stupid. Stupid to the power of ten…When I think of what must have happened…

__

I'm so bloody * scared *…

But just now I need to get back to Hogwarts, I can't, mustn't think of any of this. I can see from the clock on the mantle-piece that it's 7:32 am. Breakfast is 7:45 to 8:30, so if I get back * now * I could still act like I'd gone for an early-morning stroll or something and no one would know…

But I would. That's bad enough.

Depression sinks thick and cold into my stomach, as into my minds eyes comes visions of him after this, now that he has the power to destroy me…

'Well, we all know about Weasley, don't we? What he does. What he likes. I wouldn't be surprised if he instructs half the year… Maybe we should get out the 'Weasley is our King' song again… What do you mean 'What are you talking about?' Potter? Don't you know? Hasn't he told you his little secret yet?'

__

Breathe. Breathe. 

I take a deep steadying breath, then I cautiously reach out a hand as if he's red-hot and shake Draco by the shoulder.

'Mmmmmm. Hey…' He turns over and sort of rolls into my arm so that I'm hugging him, pressing us together so that I gather he's quite definitely pleased to see me. Our bodies fit right into each other as easily as if this was normality.

__

Mmmmmm back atcha…

Like: * Spark *, deep and painful and fast and all down my body so my toes curl. 

He gives a little breathy sight in response and starts to nibble at my neck, just under my ear, one hand in my hair, and I manage a full-body shiver before I dig my fingers into his shoulder, feeling a bolt like ice, speeding into a dark vortex of sheer blinding fear, and push him away so hard and so fast I make him bounce as he hits the bed.

He raises his hands in mock defeat 'You're ticklish, yeah, I know, I'm sorry, you liked it enough last...'

__

No, no, no, no, no, no….

'Shu..Shut up!' I yell at him, one hand in my hair pulling at it the way you do when you are completely * lost * and I climb out of the bed and start frantically searching for my clothes because I can't look at Draco, at Malfoy stretched out on the stupid, mussed black and green bed and * eager * and confused and because there is no fucking * way * that he's going to hurt me again.

'Get the portkey' I continue, 'I have to get back to Hogwarts.'

'Oh' 

He sounds relieved? 

'Don't worry, Ron. I have it right here. We can easily get back before anyone misses us, and my parents won't get back for a few days - they're not about to walk in!'

__

Don't look, don't talk, don't give him anything else…

I start to pull on my pyjamas and look around in horror as I see the full extent of the damage to the room. This'll take months to repair! The Malfoys are going to be furious!

'The House Elves will clear up, Ron, it's cool.'

I have to look at him. I thought that this was his statement, his rebellion. He seems to understand:

'There's no point in letting them know I know about all that business. I need their money, Ron; I need my Father's power. Besides, what do they care about antiques? All the decent stuff's in the vault anyway.' 

He looks sad, then shrugs his shoulders and smiles, this weird new genuine smile thing that he's suddenly started:

'Now come back here, we've got time. We don't have to leave just yet, there's time for one more.' He rests his chin on his hands, lying on his stomach and kicking his legs in the air, unashamedly naked.

And smiling, which I had never seen, which tugs at my chest and makes the bridge of my nose shoot in pain because it feels so nice. This is wrong. This won't last. He could never be forever smiling at me…This isn't my fault. None of this…the hell I've been going through the past few days, none of it's my fault and now this…

I spit the anger out at him:

'No! No more of…this - there is no * this *, there is no * we *. Just put on your fucking clothes and get me out of here.' I throw his T-shirt in his face and turn away. 

__

Don't let your voice shake like that.

I know how he looks without having to see; he's confused. He's angry, but there's nothing he can do about it. I've been as mean as I possibly can, because now whatever he says or does there's no way he can come off looking like the bastard in this situation. 

__

He can't hurt me again. Not this time.

There's no response he can make that won't make it look like what I said bothered him. Like he cares what I said. And Draco Malfoy doesn't care about anything, does he?

So he says nothing. He gets dressed efficiently, expressionlessly, with no attempt at false modesty over his body, picks up the brush from the bedside table and holds it out to me at arm's length. He won't meet my eyes, and I'm glad of it. 

I half-expect him to cast a spell on me or something. I don't know him. I was stupid to forget I fear him.

And now I fear myself around him.

As I touch the brush the bedroom dissolves and my feet feel the hard shock of Hogwart's flagstones. Less than twelve hours ago we stood here and my entire world had been different. It had been one I wanted to live in.

Draco and I stand like statues, clutching this stupid hairbrush. 

He's put on his T-shirt back-to-front.

I can hear his breathing and see the white smoky vapour it makes in the chill of the cellars and we both shake slightly in the cold. He appears to be in shock. 

Of course he is, think what he's done for you these past days. He's been the only vaguely kind person in my world… 

If it was anyone else, well, I would feel pretty guilty…

But it's * Draco Malfoy *. That just keeps blaring like a klaxon in my head, my head that's still fuzzy and dim and full of pain. 

Which is why I drop the brush and make for the door. When I reach it I turn around:

__

He has to know you're strong…

'Listen, Malfoy, this never happened.'

If he notices his surname, he doesn't show it. He opens his mouth to speak, but is stopped by the chiming of the school clock, which doesn't seem to bother him but cuts through my head like a knife. 

__

No…wrong…mustn't…no…wrong…wrong…wrong…

It all suddenly overpowers me and I double over and vomit on the floor, then collapse in a heap. 

He walks up to me, steps over my prone form and through the door. He leaves. 

I expect him to kick me in the head, to punish me, to teach me a lesson. But I simply tense for a blow that never came and it makes me retch again.

And that makes me cry.

~~***~~

When I returned to Hogwarts the morning after the night before nobody commented on my absence. Well, partly, I suppose because so many of them still weren't talking to me.

All that seemed so distant and far away, old problems.

I had changed, and showered about ten times, and got through until lunch with my lessons before I even knew it. Sometimes life's like that when it sucks.

To this day I have never been able to remember anything of what we did that night, beyond when he first put his deep, velvety-warm mouth on me. I don't know who did what, or how, or how good it was. 

Obviously, I had an idea. I thought I probably would have been able to feel it if he'd….* that *…that thing you do with another guy. That reassured me, but I didn't want to delve any further, I didn't want to think or hypothesise. I didn't want to know.

I didn't want to know. Precisely.

But my body wouldn't let me forget.

There were two occasions that really got me. I mean, a few times when I saw Draco I would react, even though I didn't want to, even though I was trying my hardest not to see him or think about any of it. But that I figured was just because, well, he was attractive. It wasn't anything special. 

But there was these times that I couldn't understand, which made no sense, until I finally figured out that they must be triggering a memory my mind couldn't recall, but my body could…

Botany: /All of the class in one big huddle around the Teacher's desk watching a demonstration and him and me about as far apart as possible, and it was a really hot day and a stupid one to be inside a greenhouse it and we all looked frankly disgusting and flushed and he had this one drop of sweat balanced on the tip of his nose and it fell to his upper lip and he reached up an unconscious hand and drew the back across his mouth to clean it and SNAP! I could barely stand, my knees shook, my neck flushed even redder and every cell in my body just * wanted * like thirst./ 

In the Corridor: /Everyone running to lessons and he passed me and I didn't realise who it was and in the rush both of us fell slightly and he grasped hold of my robe to stop falling over and that hand just reflexively * clutching * because it had to because the moment was just that fast and intense and as soon as he realised it was me he practically ran away, but I was frozen again…/

And now I absolutely know that no matter what I try I can't escape him. Bloody Draco Malfoy in every hour and every minute and why me? Why did he have to pick on me? Why would he want to?

~~***~~

I know one thing I had to do. I know I can't live with the false accusations and the fake Harry any longer, even if it is for Harry's safety - I'm not that good an actor.

Which, they explain to me when I take Hermione with me and confront Dumbledore one week and two days after 'the night', was precisely why I wasn't in on the scheme. 

I didn't tell them how I knew, and they didn't ask, I just said I'd found out from an anonymous source. I kind of hinted that the disguise was pretty useless now, and Dumbledore agreed that maybe it was time for Harry Potter to return. He'd been staying with Remus Lupin in a secret location.

Lots of secrets seemed to be underlying what I'd thought was still my simple life.

'I hope, Mr Weasley, that you can forgive our deception. We have known for some time that an attack of a new kind was planned on Mr Potter. It was the only course we could take without causing a panic amongst the students for their own safety.'

'I understand, really I do, but why couldn't you tell me after they fell? You could have at least told Oliver to act like he trusted me.'

'You have to understand, Mr Weasley, that even then we were not sure that you were what you said you were - oh, I don't mean that you yourself would ever do such a thing,' he continued seeing the look of horror on my face, 'But you could have been replaced by an agent of the Dark Lord in disguise all too easily. We couldn't know.'

Hermione, who was still looking a little sheepish and embarrassed over the deception, then spoke up:

'We couldn't figure out why those people thought you'd done it. But it came to me suddenly that maybe you _ were _ an illusion, for just that few seconds.'

She's good; there's no denying it.

'And so,' she continued, 'We checked and double-checked and finally we found a residual spell and guess what? * Draco Malfoy * put it on you before the match! It definitely had been around him. I think he must have cast the original spell…'

I tried to show all due shock, horror, amazement etc. But all her words did were remind me of how hurt he'd been, and what that had led to.

Make me feel once more that wave of sympathy and warmth that had pushed me into his arms…That had made me forget that he was Draco Malfoy…

She was still talking, saying how they were wondering whether to question Draco directly, or gather more evidence and then more or less arrest him. She and Dumbledore gladly acknowledged that he might have simply been his Father's pawn - and we could be sure that no evidence incriminating Lucius would ever be found - but would anything positively clearing Draco of the crime ever turn up? 

They doubted it.

I left in a daze, feeling everything and more and wishing that I could blame it all on a hangover again.

I force myself to look at Draco that night at supper. He looks…well how can I possibly judge? He'll never look the same to me. I know I feel something horrible and squirmy and dark whenever I think of him, like touching a fresh wound with hot water…

Every time I think of him the fear returns, horribly mixed in with a kind of lonely longing. And shame. Horrible, stupid shame that if I'd ever been that way with someone…with a boy…that it had been him. 

That's it, isn't it? If I was with anyone it should have been Harry or Dean or Seamus or even Neville - but * Draco *! I'm ashamed of myself, but maybe, on some level, I'm beginning to wonder if I'm ashamed of him…

__

Can you just let him be accused of a crime that not only he hasn't committed, but is a crime against him?

Well there isn't an alternative, was there? There was no way I'm letting myself anywhere near him again. No way I'll ever talk to him.

Even if I could instead of just getting a dry throat and beating heart and losing my thoughts every time I see him…

~~***~~

When Harry comes back to the dorm he looks more or less the same, but he's tanned slightly. I'm so pleased to see him, but I still can't believe he didn't tell me. I want to get it out, to talk about it, to give him a chance if he feels embarrassed.

'Harry, about the whole doubles thing…'

'Ron, it's fine!' He smiles at me, looking up from rearranging his sock-drawer, and as I look back in confusion, he continues: 'I get that you were a bit angry but I understand, it's only natural that you should feel that way - I'm not offended.'

My voice is far too steady: 'I was going to give you a chance to apologise to * me *, Harry.'

He looks genuinely surprised, and rather put out. Harry's a good person, but everyone always acting like his needs are the most important in the world cannot help but skew his views. 

__

He betrayed me, I trusted him and he wilfully misunderstood me. He used me.

I feel…There's something there I know I mustn't think about. Something I have to stop considering, some truth that lurks and could catch my indignation and make me ashamed. 

I storm out of the dorm and out of Gryffindor Tower altogether. 

__

Smiles…frowns…fists…lips…friends…enemies…fear…Houses…blazing eyes…

In the corridor are these horrible garish posters for the Spring Ball…dancing couples, roses, hearts. They only make me feel worse.

He runs after me and tries to talk to me in the corridor. Which is to say he shouts at me:

'Ron, what's your big problem? I had to do this! I could have died! Are you telling me I should have risked my life?'

'I get it, Harry! I get that your life was in danger, what I don't get is why I have to apologise to * you * about it! You keep something like this from me, you disappear, you return as and whenever you please and you fucking well expect me to apologise for any damage to our friendship? This is too far, Harry.'

Quite a crowd gathers around us. I don't care. I'm flipping furious.

He laughs. It's not a pleasant laugh. 'Look, Ron, what could have happened, what possibly could have happened to you while I wasn't here?' Like he was the cause, meaning and centre of everything. Yes, I think that sometimes, he does too, but we don't say it. We never say it. 

'You don't know me at all, do you?' I feel the skin burn under my freckles in anger. Hermione's arrived now, and she's talking to Harry, trying to calm him down. I feel at that moment almost as angry with her - what, she couldn't at least have given me some more assurance? Some more support? 

'You don't have a fucking clue about my life!' I shout, not caring who heard, and point accusingly at the two of them. 'Well, that's fine, but you'd better be prepared to take the surprises!'

And I turn around to the large audience, find the face I knew I had spotted out of the corner of my eye. The one I could rely on to be there, if nothing else.

I walk straight up to Draco Malfoy and press my lips to his, catching one hand in his hair to stop him struggling in surprise. I put my lips next to his ear and whisper 'Play along or you'll regret it.' He raises his eyebrow a tiny amount, and I find I have to kiss him again.

__

Hot thick and moving. I remember this. I remember this. This is…I want this…I remember I want this…How can someone so cold be this damn hot?

He lets me lead the way out of the corridor full of gaping spectators, Harry and Hermione too shocked to speak, and into the grounds. I don't stop walking, or look at him, until we're almost at the boundaries of the Forbidden Forest.

Then he grabs my arm, none too gently:

'This had better be a fucking good threat, Weasley, because if not I'm going to kill you for what you did in there!'

__

His hand is clenched around my arm. I remember, that's how big his fist is. Just too small to go around my forearm and just right to…

'They're going to accuse you of putting that spell on Harry.' When I say it I realise how absurd that sounds to me now. I realise I wouldn't believe it any more.

He widens his eyes, and before he can speak I continue: 'I'll tell them what I heard Marcus say - that you didn't know about it - if you'll do something for me.'

__

What are you doing? What are you doing? 

But I've started now. In my head plays a weird re-mix of Harry's face when I kissed Draco and Draco's face when I kissed Draco…like a sugar rush but twice as high. As I speak I move closer to him almost unconsciously:

'Do what we did…kiss me in the corridors, make like we're dating. Then we'll break up in public. At the Ball. If you agree I'll tell Dumbledore about the spell, but go back on the deal and I'll tell him you forced me to speak up for you.' 

I feel disgusting, acting like this, saying these things. All I can think of is him coming to me all those days ago, unprompted and with no agenda, to tell me I hadn't hurt Harry and thus saving me from total breakdown. He'd reached out a hand; I'm offering a cold deal. But I reach deep into my dislike: ' Think about it, you can tell everyone you had me and dumped me, got one over the little Gryffindor.'

He looks at me…I can honestly say I've never seen him look shocked before, not shocked like that, like disappointed shocked. There's something else under his eyes too, something that flares for a brief second before he hides it, something that I can't identify. 

I expect him to storm off.

But he nods.

~~***~~


	6. Six

Expiry Date: Part the Sixth

By Green

****

Disclaimer/Warnings/Rating: See chapter one

****

Notes: I had originally planned this story to be six chapters long, but when I started to write this I realised that there was so much I wanted/needed to write that there will also be one or two chapters after this…I hope people don't mind that, myself I always find long stories a little off-putting, but I swear I'm trying to edit this so that it isn't pure self-indulgent waffle...*g*

I'm also going to change the chapter titles back to 'One' 'Two' etc, as the titles I have been using were part of a theme that I realised I didn't really want early on but I was too lazy to change. So the chapter titles have changed but the content is still the same.

This was to be uploaded several days ago, but the upload function screwed up **again** (kill kill kill)

Thank-you * so much * to the reviewers so far, it's been really great to have all that support behind me. I hope y'all enjoy this chapter too. 

~~***~~

He's…nodding. He's nodding. He's agreeing. And nodding, and looking at me like…

And it's like when the teacher tells off the entire class, and you feel so so guilty, and you just want to stand up and yell that it wasn't me, it wasn't really me that did it, and please please please just stop looking at me like that. No matter how irrational the urge is, because you know you've done nothing wrong…

__

Say something, anything, just don't stand here letting him look at you…

'You…You'll do it?'

'Yes.' His voice is all wrong, somehow. Too carefully cool and yet with more emotion than I've ever heard. It comes out husky the way words sometimes will when you're tense and haven't spoken, and you should have cleared your throat but you didn't. The tips of his ears turn pink.

He looks…ashamed. Not of me, but of himself.

He reaches out a thin, pale hand, to shake on the deal. He sees my nails, which are bitten, chipped and stained with ink, and speaks superciliously:

'But if this is to be believable - and if it isn't I doubt your conditions will be met -you'll need to smarten up. Would anyone think I could countenance someone with this little regard for personal hygiene?'

__

There, see, that's the Draco you know and hate.

But I have this weird sense, like he's suddenly changed. Like whoever just said yes to me in that aching voice has gone and this has taken his place. 

So we do shake hands. It's the first time I touched his skin since…

__

Why did you always think his skin would be cold as a vampire's? It's so warm… 

He meets my eyes only briefly, then walks away towards the Lake. At the near bank he flops onto the grass, lying on his back staring at the sky, unmoving.

__

I hope he doesn't fall asleep and burn his skin…

I leave with a feeling of triumph. Harry will see how little I need him. Harry will see what I can do. Harry will see, in fact, what I've done in his absence - except that this will be a charade of the truth. 

It'll be how it should have happened. Draco and I getting together, briefly, before I leave him in contempt. 

But that did happen, didn't it? I left because I didn't want him to hurt me, because I * knew * this was how he would be to me.

__

But then, you thought you * knew * you fancied Harry. You thought Harry * was * Harry. 

As I re-enter the School and start walking along the corridors I hear two Slytherin third-years talking. And I admit, I listen, because I figure: know your enemy.

The first speaks: 

'Look, Stanley, do you know what's up with Malfoy?'

'He's a stupid git, if you ask me. He's finally old enough to join the Dark Order, and could have done by now, with his connections, but has he taken advantage of them? No. He's not his Father's son.'

'My brother's in his year, he says that Malfoy used to be like this god in Slytherin. He was the cruellest and most ruthless we've ever known, apparently. He went around with the old Quidditch Captain - Marcus Flint.'

'Frederick's brother?'

'Yeah, him, anyway, the point is they were, like, * perfect * y'know, ruled the school, and then apparently Malfoy just flipped. He threatened to stop playing Quidditch, and he wouldn't let anyone talk about You-Know-Who any more. He still seems like a cruel bastard to me though.'

(This was said with some admiration.)

'He's mean alright. Did you hear what he said about my robes?'

'Well, they are kind of pink, you shouldn't let your Mum wash them with the socks again.'

'Shut up, Ferdinand! But why is Malfoy like this now? I mean, he just sits in the Common Room hissing at people who come near his chair and slinking off to god-knows-where. And these past few days it's been even worse - he looks like death. I was so pleased when I heard he might be responsible for the whole 'accident' thing, but I don't think he can be. He's so withdrawn.'

'Look, I don't know about Malfoy's mind and I don't want to know, but I heard from my brother that he got mad with Flint because…'

Here the second speaker lowers his voice and whispers in the other's ear. Then both gasp in horror and give a kind of nervous laugh. 

__

They're second years! What could they possibly know about good and Dark and how people's minds work?

Like I can realistically see Draco hunched in some armchair! Some stupid overstuffed one like in our Common Room, staring into the fire just like me, just as scared, with the leather dark and stained with buried tears.

Not that green leather would darken in the same way of course. 

And now I can see Draco in a sea of green again, and this is a very bad thing because I really need to concentrate in my next lesson. 

Oh well, only two weeks until the Ball, and then I can leave this whole mess behind.

~~***~~

After Divination I'm wandering down the stairs from the tower, slightly behind the others as I dropped my bag and spilt everything on the way out, when I happen to glance out of the window.

It overlooks the lake, and I can see him. He's still there, forty minutes later. He isn't asleep though - he's sitting on the bank, casting pebbles into the water and making them jump along the surface. The splashes sparkle in the sun, and the lake is covered in delicate ripples. 

And he just throws, and throws, like at that moment that's all there is in life. Then he suddenly pulls off his robes and dives into the smooth, cool, blue-green water. After a few seconds he surfaces, shaking his hair like a dog to get the water off, wiping his face with his hands, gasping from the cold, and dripping wet and naked and just so…

…For the first time I'm understanding that Draco's * alive * and passionate, and that, for all of everything, he's seventeen just like me, and seventeen is a hell of a lot smaller when you get there than what it appears at eleven. Sometimes I've wanted to just jump into that lake and relish the cold shock of sensation, but I've never done it.

He pulls on the robes again, and runs a hand briefly through his hair, trying to squeeze out the water. Then, to my surprise, he runs a hand angrily over his eyes…

…Suddenly I feel like I shouldn't be watching him like this, spying, peeping, whatever. So I turn to walk downstairs, but I have to wait, because for a few moments I can't see past the bright sun-image burned onto my eyelids - red spots dance before me, always floating just out of focus, and the stair before me seems to lead to total darkness.

~~***~~

The next time I saw Draco Malfoy was in Potions, in which he pinched my behind when I bent over to get something. Then there was Herbology, where he winked and indicated the back of the greenhouses with his head. I walked with him there after class, to maintain the illusion. We waited there in silence, not looking at other, for a few minutes. Then he mechanically put one hand in his hair and ruffled it slightly for effect and started walking away.

'This is… going good.' I had to say something. I had to make myself feel less like a punter.

He didn't look round. He just left, striding out and swinging his hips as he always does when he walks. I was annoyed, but this was what I needed. This was what I needed to feel for him.

__

One week three days to go.

When I'm with him I can see in his face the same eyes that saw my tatty robes and the same mouth that sang cruel songs about me during Quidditch. 

__

But you can't read his mind. You never could.

Actions are the products of thoughts. It that was what he did what did he imagine doing? I have too many memories of him to let a look, a feeling, a random sensation outweigh what I know.

__

What do you know? What do you really know about other people?

The hardest part is negotiating rendezvous spots, since although ostensibly we're spending more time together than ever, I don't really want to talk to him or he to me. I realised we would need a regular spot, so, for the past few days, we've started disappearing to the Owlery after dinner. The second time he actually brought a book to pass the time as we sat in the stench of the owls and their soft, companionable hooting.

I watch them, snuggling up to each other and preening their feathers. Calm and happy and seemingly unaware of our presence. 

I watch the top of his head as he bends over his book.

I watch the second hand on my watch slowly go round.

__

Six days, five hours and two minutes to go.

I watch the stars.

And I can see myself getting used to this, almost getting comfortable, attuned to his breathing and sometimes forgetting his presence for a few moments, feeling comfortable and familiar…

Except...sometimes, in lessons, he looks at me - as we planned he would but…but even so I can hardly breathe.

I never knew before, you see, when he looked at me, that he wanted me. And he's had me now, and so I know it's irrational to think this, but he looks the same. Like he wants me. Like he * hasn't * forgotten what happened that night. Like when he sees me what he also sees is…

And, I mean, it's * every * day. OK? I can't go all that time feeling…like that and not do something. His face is in my mind, because it has to be, because that's the plan…Because when I remember him it feels so much better than my cold hand, and I have to get through somehow, because every time I wake up hot and flustered in the night I hear silent voices that smile and say 'Mmmmm, hey…' So I reach out to the phantoms and I think of him and I…

I can't * not * think of him. And this way I control it.

__

Only for four more days

So what, right? This isn't anything. Just what I always knew - Draco is really quite attractive. So what? It's just an image, a transient thing, it won't last. Like in a porn magazine. Distant and detached and totally outside of anything warm and loving. Just like him. 

~~***~~

People have already noticed, they always do. Even as they argue and worry over their own arrangements for the Ball they've started to talk and then to stop talking as I enter the room. Most of them have heard how I went to Dumbledore and defended Draco, and most of them are now regarding me in the light of that more than of my sexual preferences, which could be good or bad depending on one's perspective. I can see Harry's puzzled, I can see that he's worrying that he's pushed me into full-on psychosis. 

And, frankly, I could care less.

I don't have time to be bothered about Harry right now, my lessons are really difficult, with NEWTs so soon, and even though I resigned from the Quidditch team at the beginning of the year I still help out at the practices, so that takes up time. So I'm stressed, naturally…

But there's more, if I'm honest…

…I'm worried about Draco. 

It's not…anything. It's just, he seems wrong to me. I mean, I know I haven't been exactly nice to him, but I always knew he could take it, because it's how he is. He wouldn't care, I knew that - I couldn't hurt him.

And now, something or someone has hurt him, and I find I don't want him to be hurt. I can't imagine what the matter is, what's changed, but I know he's withdrawn, and distant like he never used to be, even though he was…

Oh god, this makes no sense…

He was always like, * shining *, even if it was with his own arrogance. And he isn't now, he's…I think he's unhappy. Because once he would have ripped me apart, it's such a good opportunity right now- seeing me so often. I couldn't really stop him if he did, since I'm the one who wants this arrangement. 

But he hasn't. Except when I ask him something and he answers in that aggressive/defensive way of his he hasn't made a single comment. He hasn't teased me over how he'll behave. He just goes along…I can't see in him anymore that boy who dived into the Lake naked in broad daylight…

I see him and I see the dark marks under his eyes and I worry. I worry that his parents have done something new, or that he's discovered something new from Flint. 

The funny thing is that I've heard around the school that his behaviour to everyone else has got even worse. That he's the bane of the Lower School and reduces first-years to tears on sight. Those bloody Slytherins Stanley and Ferdinand seem over-the-moon that he's their role model again. 

I don't know what's going on with him.

__

Only two days to find out in, only two days left…

I do know he doesn't have anyone to talk to. I think I probably understand him better than anyone does, even though I realise every day how little I know about him. I think I'm the only one who can see he's hurting. He doesn't have any friends. Not like I do…did. I mean, there's Crabbe and Goyle, but who'd go to them? Besides, he'd never around them any more. Or Millicent, or any of the Slytherins. And they seem to be avoiding him. 

__

So whatever he's told them about…this - you - the set-up, it hasn't made him look good…

I never wanted to * hurt * him. 

__

Well * you * didn't hurt him. Didn't we establish that? You were certain your actions would leave him cold. You were certain he could care less what you did. You knew he didn't feel emotions like everyone else…

I watch him in lessons, trying to get a clue as to what's wrong. 

I can't sleep for hypothesising everything that could have happened. 

I can't sit in my favourite armchair any more, because when I do I feel like I can see through the bricks and the hangings and the night and all the way to Slytherin Tower, where he'll be sitting, hunched up, staring into the fire…

And when I, y'know…when I think of him…late at night…when I…I don't just want him any more…I want to touch him, to caress him, to make him smile…Just to make him smile again, just once.

I know I could, I know I have, I wish I could remember how I did.

I just can't stand to see him sad, that's all.

~~***~~

I want to say something. That evening he comes to the Owlery as usual, at around six thirty. He's carrying his book, and his eyes are downcast, averted from mine. This is normal. We both always act like the other isn't actually there, except on the rare occasions that someone walks past or comes in. I suddenly notice that he isn't particularly short any more - I mean, he's shorter than I am still, but he's grown, and I haven't much.

I just always thought he was short. I guess I saw him that way too, because it was how I thought he was. I can't believe I never saw this before…

Figuring now is as good a time as any I clear my throat:

'Draco, are you, um, OK? It's just, you look…tired.'

He glares at me, and closes his book. It's funny; I think he looks somewhat embarrassed as he speaks:

'What is it Weasley? Worried that I won't be your perfect evil toyboy? Don't bug yourself - By the Ball I'll have all the 'accessories'… And I've got spells that'll cover blemishes right up. You'd know about them, I suppose, if your mother could afford them for her brats.'

And I'm * that * close to hitting him, or storming off, or yelling. And inside I'm like _'Toyboy'? 'Toyboy'? What the fuck is he on about?_ I even step closer to him and open my mouth to speak and really let out some vitriol…

…when I'm cut off by him leaning forwards and swallowing my words into his own mouth, as he presses his lips against mine…

__

…Oh…Oh dear god…How the * hell * did I forget this, how could I have forgotten this? How could anyone forget Draco Malfoy - heat and slick and baking soda toothpaste - pressing into them and just * into * them and how in the name of Merlin could I have forgotten this? If his tongue feels this good in my mouth it must feel so fucking * good * elsewhere, and I know I must have had that and I can't * remember * and what is wrong with me? How in the hell did I forget?..

…and once more I'm kissing Draco Malfoy in surprise and shock, and knowing that I could probably struggle harder if I wanted to. I can't help sliding a hand into his hair, and I feel his arm around my waist. 

One arm. Only one, because?

Because, as I see when I open my eyes, his other hand is raised in one-finger salute to the entire Hufflepuff Quidditch team, who're passing the Owlery on the way to practice…

Oh.

I fall away from him, ungracefully, breathing too fast and terribly aware of how flushed I am. He shifts back slightly, his mouth hanging slightly open and his eyes glazed, but he's frowning. He seems to speak with an effort:

'Yeah, break the effect, Weasley.'

'What the fuck was that?' I can't seem to speak, I can feel an awful sensation in the pit of my stomach…it's all that fear returning and swiftly. I feel…I can't describe it…Like he just saw me naked or something, so horribly, horribly vulnerable.

'It wouldn't be exactly convincing for them to see us arguing would it? I had to stop you hitting me. I don't want this deal to be broken remember.'

'I wouldn't. I mean, it wouldn't have been your fault. I wouldn't have blamed you if it had gone wrong, I wouldn't have gone to Dumbledore again. I'm not like that.'

'Just put on your fucking clothes and let's get out of here.'

I flinch. I've been trying to repress what I said that morning…But it sounds so much worse from him than ever in my memory. 

I get a brief flash of green sheets, white skin, blonde hair and a smile. The only smile I've ever seen him give.

__

Did I really swear at him? Did I really sound that dismissive?

I pick up the jacket he's referring to and try to ignore the blush that still spreads over my face. He doesn't look exactly composed himself. Something strange is going on. When this whole mess began he was in charge, then I somehow took over, and now neither of us seems to have the upper hand…Which freaks me out. I can feel the fear returning and I speak hastily, wanting to restore the status quo, worried about the plan:

'Whatever.' Like I don't get what he meant, like I don't even remember that morning. 

It's safer like this. It's easier like this.

And he flinches as I walk away…

__

No it's not.

~~***~~

There are times when you just wish you were still eleven - back when girls were aliens, boys were a fellow-species of monkey and everything other than sweets and Quidditch was unworthy of attention.

Times like when you're sweaty-palmed and freaked out and practically demolishing your ticket folding and re-folding it, terrified and excited and waiting just * waiting * for someone to turn up for you.

The Main Hall is decorated in some subtle way to be like an undersea cavern. The light is dim and blue and ripples like waves, some charm allows hazy images of exotic fish to stream past our heads, and all the dancing partners almost seem to float. The atmosphere is pretty intense as it is… 

And then Draco enters and it's like my vision almost narrows - all I can see is him, his face, his movements. I can't help staring.

__

Because you know you've got about five minutes left to stare in. 

He walks over to me, and holds out his hand. I take it and he guides me to dance floor.

I put my arms around him, and I can see we're getting few onlookers, although it's to the credit of the atmosphere that most of the couples are too absorbed in each other to really register us. 

Just my luck to get a slow number. 

He leans into my neck, and I can feel his hot breath. He smells…how I can describe it without sounding facetious?…He smells of green sheets, and hangovers, and warmth, and fear and bicarbonate of soda toothpaste.

I thought that by this point I've have to keep repeating to myself that the whole damn business is almost over, but I find I want to keep that fact as far to the back of my mind as possible.

__

Maybe three minutes left…two minutes fifty-nine seconds…

I wish more than ever before, more than I've ever wished for anything, that I could just remember that night. Because then I might be able to remember if he was nice, if he was kind, if maybe I had him wrong. 

I've been thinking all day, I've been thinking all through the days ever since he kissed me in the Owlery. And I think I've figured some stuff out. I think I've made some mistakes.

I * know * that there isn't one person in this room, or indeed on the Planet, that I'd rather be dancing with.

We move slowly to the music, I put a hand in his hair, so soft and pale, and he shivers slightly. 

I don't fear him. How could I have thought that I did? He wouldn't hurt me. I should have realised that after he helped me. I just felt so ashamed, worried about what Harry would think. And Harry - I think I over-reacted to him as well. And Hermione. Because then I was really guilty about Draco, and I wanted someone to blame.

Oh god, I've really messed up haven't I?

But I can't seem to worry. I can't seem to feel that drop and pressure of fear and depression. 

Because I feel Draco's heartbeat, I can feel his hair under my fingers, I can feel his warmth through my clothes, and I don't need anything else. I don't need anything but this.

__

Five

The music ends.

__

Four

He pulls back, and narrows his eyes at me, and I want to say 'Stop' because I know what happens next - we practically scripted it together:

OK, Malfoy, I'll say 'What the fuck do you think you're doing?' and you'll reply, 'Don't you know, kid?'

But my throat won't make the words.

__

Three

No, Ron, You'll say 'Are you seeing someone else?' and I'll say 'Does it matter? You're still getting it.'

He's staring at me, waiting for me to speak, widening his eyes to try and prompt me.

No, I'll say 'Why can't it always be like this?' and you'll say 'Because I deserve some pleasure in this relationship too you know.'

All those ways we thought of breaking up, when we knew just how to hurt each other already, instinctively.

__

Two

And there he stands waiting for me to speak, waiting for me to put the last step of my plan into action, waiting for me to en-act my life as I thought I always wanted it. 

But I don't. I don't want it. And I don't speak…

__

One 

It's all supposed to finish now.

The music for the next dance starts and I hold out my hand to him, waiting to see if he will take it…

~~~

__

…Part seven soon…*g*


	7. Seven

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Expiry Date: Part the Seventh (And final)

By Green

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Warnings/Rating/Disclaimer: Please see Chapter One

Notes: Well, here it is, finished at last and I'm sorry it's taken so long…I've really enjoyed writing this story and it's worked out a lot of mental images I've been wanting to fit in for a long time.

Mental images, however, are well-complemented by actual ones - there is a truly *fantastic * piece of artwork for this fic by the ever-amazing Lizard, go check it out. I was going to paste the address here but it seems to interfere with the upload process so I'll put it into a 'review' for this fic…

As always: please r/r and I hope you enjoy it….. * g *

~~***~~

The music for the next dance starts and I hold out my hand to him, waiting to see if he will take it…my hand reaching out into that huge space between us…I can see it's shaking and I flush, but I stay staring at him.

He hisses at me under his breath:

'Weasley? We've had the first number - it's time.'

'Not yet.' It's all the excuse I can come up with for wanting a few minutes more with him, * with * him, near to him, let him read my words how he wants, I can't think of anything else to say.

He stands still a second, undecided, then bites his lip and puts his arms round me again, like he doesn't want to, and yet somehow does it anyway. I feel my breath catch as I smell the sweetness of his hair. 

The music plays, soft and aching. We slowly sway to it like all the others, the lights trickling off us. A 'fish' floats past him and I brush it away, then find my hand holding his as he reaches at the same moment. Slowly I clasp it in mine, as we turn around and around, so softly. I'm close enough to feel his breathing on my skin, but I don't quite dare look up. I don't feel like we've argued and fought and fucked and argued some more - I feel like I'm seeing him for the first time.

As the song continues I raise my head, slowly, softly, feeling the burn of his gaze…raising until we're barely separated, then, feeling like this is the first time, the first real time, taking the initiative and kissing him. 

At first he puts his hand to my head, playing along, but he can tell, somehow, from the way I'm too shy to pull him to me, from the tentative hand in his hair, from my hesitant but eager mouth, that this is * real *. 

He breaks away from me with an angry gasp.

He yells, without thought of scripts or plans.

'Haven't you done enough? You want more of this? Want to make sure I really hurt?'

'What? Draco?'

__

Smooth, Ron. 

He starts, as though only just realising he's spoken in a Hall filled with attentive listeners. He hisses at me:

'How much longer can it last, Weasley? How much happiness do you think you really deserve?'

In my mind's eye I can see the corridor again, and my locker, and the two of us bantering, and I can almost remember my calm confidence that the status quo would always be the same, and yet at the same time the undercurrent that was always there, drawing us further and further in.

But I can remember more too - the hurt, the sneers, the way he made me feel like dirt around him for all those long terms. And here he is again, messing me up, playing with me, confusing me and spoiling my good times. I'm damned if he's going to make himself out like a victim here.

'Yeah Draco, like you never hurt me! Like you never ruined my whole day!' 

'When?' God, he actually sounds innocent. Stupid wide-eyed confusion - like all the times he escaped punishment only to land it on me and my friends.

'Oh I don't know, all my school life perhaps? All those digs at my family, at Hermione and Harry? The time you wrote a song about my Quidditch skills? The times you've run to Snape about us, the way you treat us like we're second-class!'

'When did I last go to Snape?' His voice is very quiet, barely controlled.

'What?'

'When? When did I write that song?'

__

What the hell is he on about? Well I remember that well enough, it's etched onto my brain.

'In the fifth year.'

'When did I last call someone a mud-blood?'

I cast my mind back, and am surprised by the answer.

'In the…in the fifth year.'

I suddenly realise what he's saying.

His eyes glitter and flash as he replies - I've never seen him like this, apart from once, in a cold house and a green room, where he tore things apart.

'People grow up, Ron. Maybe you should.' He doesn't shout, he doesn't shake, he just speaks in that soft, quiet voice and then bites his lip so hard I want to go up to him and make sure it isn't bleeding.

But he strides out of the room - the people clearing a path for him instinctively - at the door he reaches out and grabs Stanley - one of the third-year Slytherins I'd seen talking - by the collar:

'Tonight.' He spits. Stanley looks overcome with awe, but squeaks

'The message?'

'Yes.' Draco lets him go and leaves the Hall.

And so the entire room turns to look at me. Pity, disgust, worry, laughter, confusion and anger all flitting round the room at me. 

So I follow him out, because it's the only accessible door, but there is no way in hell I'm going after him.

~~***~~

I hate to rush to my room and sprawl on my bed, burying my face in the pillow, because it feels like something a jilted heroine of the Victorian novel would do, but I don't seem to have the energy to do anything else.

I blew it, didn't I? Of course I did. I've handled this entire thing like an idiot and I'm not afraid to say it. I'm angry - furious in fact - but I don't know if it's with him or me or both of us. I think I'm angry primarily so I can't be sad, because once I start that I'm never going to stop.

I don't want to re-play the whole disastrous scene in my head, but of course I do. I can see his point; I can see my point. We needed to say those things, but not like that.

And my plan's more or less screwed, of course, but who cares? I can barely remember why it mattered.

And after a few minutes I start to wonder - what was he talking to that Slytherin about anyway? Message? Tonight? Why did the kid seem so surprised?

Into my mind float the other unanswered questions that have been building up over the last few days, questions I've been pushing to the back of my mind. Like what were those third-years were talking about when they said he'd missed his chance? When he called himself a 'toyboy'what did he mean by saying by tonight he'd have all the 'accessories'?

Why was he late for the dance? 

Holy * shit *. He wouldn't. He * wouldn't *.

Would he? 

Oh no, oh fuck no. He's such an * idiot * and it's all my fault. If I had explained it all to him instead of yelling he would have called it off, I know he would - I…

…But he hasn't done it yet. There's still time. I just have to find him and…

__

And what? Hang onto his legs so he can't move?

*Anything *. I'd do anything, Even if it means becoming a Deatheater myself, I have to stop him.

~~***~~

The corridors are more or less deserted, the older years are at the Ball, the others tucked away into their nice segregated Common Rooms. I rush across the paving stones, panting, trying to organize my mind and plan the most logical route.

Cellars, I'll start there. I dash down stairs, almost tripping and breaking my neck. The cold rooms are empty and echoing - he isn't here now and if he ever was I can't reach him from here. Panic streaks through my chest, but the adrenaline gives me the energy to rush back up the stairs, back up to the corridors and then along to the Hall. 

I glance through the door. No Stanley. But I see Ferdinand standing by the fruit punch, chatting to some girl. I run up to him grab him by the shoulder:

'Where's Stanley? Where are Stanley and Draco?'

'Hey, how should I know?' He tries to fend me of with his hands but I'm not having any of that - I clasp his shirt and shove him back against the wall, not caring about the stares, the shouts from the Teachers.

'Where. Are. They?'

He looks genuinely afraid, and splutters helplessly:

'I don't know, honest, but they went upstairs when they left the Hall.'

Of course. I'm stupid; I should have gone straight there. I've wasted so much time.

I drop Ferdinand and race out of the Hall for the second time this evening. Every frantic beat of my heart means another second gone, another minute wasted, means I'm closer and closer to being too late. I scale the stairs two at a time, short of breath now but racing on, fear driving me. 

I guess if they hadn't been passing I would have tried to break through the Slytherin Tower portrait-door with my bare hands. But four Slytherins enter just ahead of me, and I catch the portrait - forcing it to stay open as I step into the Common Room. 

They all yell of course, all those superior Slytherins roused from their chairs, which are in fact precisely like the ones in Gryffindor Tower after all. I don't care, I practically can't even see, I just make for the staircase for the boys' dorms. 

Surprise gives me an advantage - they're too shocked to try and stop me for the few seconds it takes me to the reach the stairs. I'm sweating now with fear and exertion, and my hand is slippery on the rail. I realise I have absolutely no idea with room is Draco's and so I open several doors - disturbing even more people - before I enter a room that I know is his from the Malfoy crest hung over the bed. 

I lock the door behind me, then turn to the room. Beneath me I can hear shouts of rage, people running to fetch Snape, Dumbledore even. Whatever. 

The bed is neat, nothing hidden in it. The bedside table has a drawer filled with the paraphernalia of Draco Malfoy - old trading cards, sweet-wrappers, packets of paper tissues, wand polish, ancient homework, postcards of Siberian Mountains from his parents. I feel terrible rooting through all this stuff, all this petty, banal mess that we never want others to see. The top of the table boasts a large variety of hair-care products and I grab each one before casting it aside onto the floor. None of them give my fingers the faint tingling of a portkey. 

I have to find it. He has to have two. He would have, for back up, surely?

There is a pounding on the stairs of the avenging party reaching the room. It sounds like they got half the staff. I've got barely seconds. I frantically scrabble through every object I've found. The floor's littered with old photos, reading books and parchments and I still haven't got it. 

Handkerchief. Throat sweets. Painkillers. Soap. Bertie Botts Every-Flavour Beans. Hair Gel. _Firebolt: A users guide._ Owl feathers. Bookmark. Miniature dragon…

Yes! I remember these, they were free with the Botts Beans if you collected the tokens and sent off, funny to think of Draco collecting tokens for anything but nonetheless here it is and I can tell it's the other portkey…

The door flies open to admit the angry Slytherins. But I grasp the small model tight, and feel the now almost familiar sensation of the world dissolving around me…

~~***~~

The disorientation is worse this time, because to begin with I don't have a clue where I've ended up. Before I've always had him to tell me where we were, now I'm alone. On the other hand, alone is good, there was every chance I might end up in a room full of people, which could have turned nasty.

I look around - the room is dark, with the curtains drawn across the windows, the only sources of light the faint glow of the moonlight through the gaps. 

It doesn't even look green in this light.

Yeah, I'm back in the bedroom. I grit my teeth. I can remember this room so well, the pictures, the furniture, the bed. So much of that night is lodged in my brain forever in perfect detail, just not any of the important bits, the good bits. But I can't think about that now, I have to think about the present, not the past.

__

Good idea in general, actually.

The bedroom is in total silence, which seems strangely amplified by its total neatness. The houselves obviously did their job well. 

Very carefully I open the door into the corridor, praying it won't squeak. The corridor is also in darkness, but I can see a figure at the end of it, standing outside the door to the Drawing Room, waiting. 

I'm surprised how my heart catches in relief when I realise it's Draco. 

He's near to the closed door, but the chink of light coming from it indicates that he's got it open and is listening in. I creep along the corridor, treading as softly as I can, but suddenly I freeze.

There are Aurors in that room already.

Harry always says he can feel their thoughts when he's near them - well, I can't do anything as swish as that but I * know *. We all do. That coldness, that hunger. You can feel it like a draft or a terrible smell. 

It takes every nerve I have to carry on walking, but I do, clenching my fists to try and ignore the urge to turn and run. I have to reach him, now more than ever. 

Finally, I come close enough. I place my hand gently on his shoulder as he faces away from me, praying he won't yell and jump around. If he does I'm dead.

Literally.

Thank-god for Mr. Composure Draco Malfoy. He twitches slightly in surprise, and then turns slowly to face me, obviously preparing in case he needs to fight whatever just came up behind him.

When he sees me, though, his composure drops in a second. His face pales, and I see genuine fear race across it for the first time in ages. He looks like I must have when he and Harry plummeted to Earth like fallen angels. 

'What the fuck?' He daren't speak either, so he mouths the words at me, but the sentence is clear. He puts a hand over my mouth before I even try and reply and listens intently at the door to see if we've been detected. 

Voices waft into the corridor:

'The boy has always been one of us, my Lord, you know that.'

'Then why is his entrance to the Order delayed? I have heard he has moved away from you, Lucius.'

The voice is chilling, terrible, even worse than the Aurors. I glance at Draco, but he is still listening, straining to catch every word.

'My Lord he joins us now because he is angry. He thinks I do not know it, but I can tell, someone has hurt him and he turns from that ridiculous world Dumbledore strives to create to Us. He will use his anger for us, and, if it ever leaves him, the remorse and shame will drive him further and further into your service.'

Now Draco looks back at me, anger and pride burning in his eyes, daring me to say anything, to look at him with pity or disgust or any emotion at all. I can see the thought reaches him at the same time as it does me, that he could walk in there now and hand me over, and the last of....that person's….doubts about him would be gone.

He grabs me by the arm, and pulls me down the corridor, away from the stream of light and terror and back into the bedroom.

~~***~~

'Are you insane, Ron? You have to leave here now, you could be killed.'

He's holding me by both shoulders, shaking me, fear still etched into his face.

__

He could never be one of * them *. Why couldn't you see it before all this mess began?

I put my hands over his, a calming gesture, nothing more:

'I'm not letting you do this Draco. I'm not letting you go in there for…that.'

'That's noble of you, isn't it?' His tone is deeply sarcastic. 'You brought me here, Ron. You told me you understood, that you'd help me get away, and then you left me like I was a piece of dirt you'd trodden in by accident.'

'What? When did I tell you that?' 

'After I went down on you.' His tone is crude, the words are cruder, he throws them out at me, trying not to let them mean more than an act. 

I shiver, feeling a race of heat through my body - I can't help it. All the times I wondered, maybe hoped a little, about what happened, * that * particular arrangement never occurred to me. And now he's saying it I'm discovering all over again why I'm crazy about him.

'I don't remember that, Draco.'

'What! You…' 

I cut him off:

'I don't remember anything that happened after we got into…onto, bed. Just waking up. I've never really been that drunk before. I just can't remember any of.'

He looks at me blankly for a second, then frowns:

'So everything you said, that was just drunkenness was it?' The tone is aggressive, but also slightly wistful.

'I don't know.' My tone is full of the exasperation and just plain exhaustion I feel from trying to piece together reasons for his behaviour, and mine.

I meet his eyes levelly, knowing that I have to convince him of the truth of my words.

'You're right, you know, I wouldn't grow up, in my mind, and I wouldn't let you. I wanted you to be the enemy and Harry to be my best friend and for nothing to change. It's taken me a long time to figure out that this isn't about Harry, or the House System or anything else other than Us. Maybe there isn't an Us, maybe I completely screwed it up, but please don't do this Draco. Please don't go back into that room. If I'm not good enough for you, * they * certainly aren't.'

It's quite a speech given that I'm whispering, and tense and I can't see any reaction on his face at all. He's staring at me, his hands have loosened on my shoulders he seems almost frozen into position. 

'How…How did you know I would be here?' He sounds a little dazed, trying to regain his composure. 

'I heard you ask Stanley for the message, it didn't take long to figure out what it was for. I've been thinking about you a * lot * recently, you know.'

He looks at the door and back:

'They'll want me soon. They're all in there, thrashing out the details.' His voice is expressionless. 

'So come with me. I've got the portkey.' I hold it out to him. 'I'm not leaving without you.'

We're both aware of our surroundings. How ironic it is for me to be in this room and saying this. I'm still reeling myself. I knew there were things I wanted to remember from that night, but I never thought I'd want to remember a conversation so badly. I wonder what he told me, how I can possibly gain enough trust from him that he'll tell me again.

'And why should I believe you this time?' He hisses. 'How do I know this isn't your good deed for the day, or that you haven't got someone watching somehow in one of your great image-boosting schemes.'

__

OK, I guess I deserve that.

I think carefully as I reply:

'You asked me once how long I thought it would take someone to figure something out.' 

He raises an eyebrow.

'Well, I've figured it out. God knows it's taken me long enough, and it's not like you've always been helpful. I've had accusations to contend with, my best friend's disappearance and all my schoolwork, but I've figured it out.' 

I take a deep breath:

'You like me. And I like you. A lot. Maybe more than like.'

I stroke the side of his face with my hand, thinking _Hey, if these are famous last words I'm glad there not anything else._ 'Can't we just start from there?'

He gazes back at me for a second, reading my face, taking in my words, then - just slightly, around the edges of his lips - I see him begin that beautiful, heart-stopping smile. My knees feel weak all of a sudden.

He can hear the sound of the Drawing Room door open and the footsteps as his Father walks out, calling for him in a harsh hiss. 

But he turns to me, and reaches out to grasp my hand around the portkey. 

It feels like magic.

~~***~~

****

Epilogue:

The sudden reappearance of myself and Draco Malfoy - holding hands - in the Slytherin dormitory caused enough confusion to prevent me getting into serious trouble over my breaking and entering. We never told anyone where we'd been or what nearly happened. 

Draco's portkeys were swiftly confiscated, but it hardly mattered, as there was no way he could go home again. Dumbledore has been very good about helping him organise a place to stay over the coming summer. 

I'm talking to Harry again. Harry and Hermione are openly dating. We're all friends, but I understand that can't be how it was seven years ago. People change, for good or bad…

Like Draco and I…

We met today after lessons near the Whomping Willow. We still have a lot of talking to do, but unfortunately talking seems to suddenly slide low on the agenda when we see each other. I can make him smile, still, and he makes me feel…loving…

I'm lying happily on the grass, watching the sun through the branches of the tree, and half-dozing when he sits up and bends over me. 

'How much longer can this last, Ron?'

I look at his face, at skin unmarred by the Aurors, but touched here and there by a mark from me. I raise a hand and bring him closer to me, whispering the words before his mouth reaches mine.

'As long as we want, Draco. As long as we want.'

__

~~FINIS~~


End file.
